Creative people were all around me growing up. I was surrounded by a mother who could sew with her eyes closed, a neighbor who constantly created new things, an aunt who whipped up new outfits for her children weekly, and a father who created amazing art with his hands. It was simply a matter of time before I followed suit.
The earliest memory I have of my creativeness was a day when I was 4 or 5 and I was sitting at the dining room table. I looked over and I saw a stylus (aka a paperclip) and in front of me a blank slate (aka the dining room table). I sketched (rather deeply) a landscape (house, sidewalk and complete with chimney and smoke) into the extra leaf of the table. I saw it as a great improvement to the smooth surface of an otherwise, boring tabletop. However, my mother saw my masterpiece quite differently…which I think was stifling on her part.
A few years went by and then BAM…it finally happened! I became a creative genius. The year was 1970 and I received a Velvet doll for Christmas. She came with only one outfit. Now obviously, as a modern girl of the 70’s, her minimalist wardrobe simply would not do. We couldn’t afford to buy more clothes for her, so I took matters into my own hands. I found a piece of fabric and figured out how to make her a new dress. I wanted to use my mom’s sewing machine but at the age of 9 she didn’t think allowing me to sew my own fingers together was a great idea…so I taught myself to hand sew (I went through a somewhat stubborn streak). I laid the original dress on the piece of fabric and then cut it a bit larger so that I could hem the neck and armholes. I even made “buttonholes” and sewed buttons on; details are vitally important. To top it off, I drew a flower on the front of the dress; prints were all the rage in the 70s. Personally, I thought I was the next Coco Chanel. That ladies and gentleman, is the day that I just knew I was destined to spend my life creating beautiful things.
